The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

If you read my blog last week you will know that I suffered a paw injury.  Mommy, who has no medical training, attempted to fix it, while I knew that all wounds can be healed by a dog’s tongue, and we battled over what treatment was better, until it was healed, whereby we both took credit. Shortly after I published the blog I was still licking my paw.  Mommy told me I would hurt it again if I persisted.  I scoffed.  What does she know? The next morning I was lame again, unable to put any wright on my right paw.  Mommy told me I had done it to myself with excessive licking.  I disagreed.  The injury had nothing to do with my licking, the wound was caused by one of the following. Pocket licking my feet while I was sleeping because my paws are delicious. Our house is built over an Indian Dog Burial Ground and the spirits of the dogs attack my paw at night. Robbers broke into the house while Mommy and Daddy slept and I fought them off with my paw. I am the first dog to have a Stigmata.  

see rescued beagles here

There is a joke by the human comedian Bill Cosby. I am not a big fan of human humor, Fozzy Bear is more my style, but I thought he raised a good point. He talked about, as the father of a male athlete, you get up early, take him to practice, take him to games, pay for the uniforms, pay for the equipment, work with him in the yard, take him to colleges, and, when they score a touchdown, and get on TV, they look in the camera and say "Hi Mom." I think, as dogs, we are guilty of that too. Those of us who have Daddies, while we love them, we really are Mama’s dogs. If Mommy is gone we might be sitting with him, or playing with him, but when Mommy appears, boom, we’re gone. This week I learned that my very good friends, Moose, Sydney and Buddy, have a Daddy who had become quite ill. And it’s one of those illnesses which they haven’t found a cure for yet. And it’s one of those illnesses that keeps getting worse. I don’t like to think about those illnesses. And Sydne

I, Pocket Dog, have a very important proclamation. As many of you know. in my four years of existence, I have been inflicted with excitable urination syndrome, depressed urination syndrome, comfortable urination syndrome, I don’t feel like getting out of the chair urination syndrome, ah the hell with it I am just going to pee on the floor urination syndrome. For a young dog I was afflicted with lots of syndromes. I am often asked how did I cope with all these syndromes. Surprisingly well. There were some positive side effects. I didn’t have to go outside in the rain, or the snow, or the cold, or the warm, or the sun. The bad side effect was that Mommies don’t like it when you pee on their rug (but Manny’s Rug Cleaning and Pig Butchering sure does) and I had to wear pants. Some called these pants diapers. I don’t like to refer to them as diapers, Diapers are something you wear under your pants, unless your Batman or Robin, and those two have a whole other thing going on.

It seemed like, for a good long while, it was another Pup of the Week, another very sick pup. But this week it’s another Pup of the Week, another pup happily ensconced in their forever home. Last week it was Wishbone. This week it’s Tiger. Tiger’s life started out like a morning nightmare. Thankfully the rest of his life will be filled with sweet dreams. He began his life locked inside, no feeling of sun on his fur, no smells of nature drifting into he wet nose, no tongue tasting everything that looks interesting. Because, as he said in his first blog on The Brigade, he had hit the jackpot. He got fostered by Sierra’s and Nase’s Mom. Jackpot indeed. From a cold hard surface Tiger got a fluffy pillow in his crate. Food came at a regular time each day. Water was always available. And the food was so tasty. Like nothing he had eaten before. When he had become fostered he was too thin but with all the good food that problem was quickly righted. And it took Tiger no

Oh nobody knows the trouble I have seen this week. On Monday I got a cut, due to totally irresponsible walking by my Daddy. My less than attentive parents didn’t notice the hitch in my gait until I jumped off Mommy’s recliner on to the hardwood floor and while my back legs and left front foot moved in my normal, graceful trot, my right leg Yamaguchid all over the floor. Pocket noticed. We usually attack one another when one of us is lame but she just laughed thinking I was doing an imitation of the previous Monday’s Nancy Grace dance elimination dance. I hobbled for a drink of water. No one noticed. I swear I could spontaneously catch fire one day and my two slack jawed parents wouldn’t turn away from the bad dancing they are enthralled with on the television. Finally Daddy noticed and he helped me into the recliner. He tried to check my paw but screw him! He couldn’t bring the water dish to me he doesn’t get to play with my toes. Truth is my pads really hurt. Daddy took

Lately there has been lots of blogs about zombies. Kolchak’s and Felix’s Mom even took place in something called the zombie apocalypse over the weekend. People took scary pictures of themselves with zombie gore on them and posted it on line. I didn’t like this at all. I don’t want my parents to be zombies. I like them just the way they are. But if you must know here are my top ten reasons for not wanting my parents to be zombies. 10. Zombies are terrible walkers. They don’t hold on to the leash. They don’t walk in a straight line so they are always tripping over you. They never remember the way home. No matter how much you tug they only stumble the way they want to go. 9. They don’t pick up your Vick. If they do they taste in then throw it down in anger. 8. If you see a human and bark at them, then walk over to them wagging your tail to get petted, they eat them. 7. If you chase a squirrel day after day, and finally catch them, your zombie parent eats them too.

Like Harry Potter Wishbone is the dog who lived. I first met Wishbone shortly after he was saved for the first time. He was a coon hound who wasn’t good at hunting. His owner thought a dog that won’t hunt ain’t worth the expense and planned to have him killed. But in came the force of nature known as Paula Malatestsa and she saved Wishbone from certain death. But Wishbone, having narrowly escaped the Bridge, was a very skittish dog. When he got his first chance he bolted out the gate and into the wilds of North Carolina where dogs are nothing but property and they put dogs down if they stray on to the road. Miss Paula was distraught. She looked everywhere but there was no sign of Wishbone. On Sunday she went to church to pray for her boy. When she came out of church she looked down a hill and saw Wishbone. Decked out in her Sunday best she went running down the hill to save her boy. Wishbone saw her, running, then tripping, then rolling, down the hill, and said “well

I have come before you today to do what I seldom do with a human unless I have licked a fair amount of their skin, and that is to praise them. The human I have come before you to praise is Peggy Frezon She was one of the brilliant minds behind K9 Kamp that gave me plenty of laughs, watching Pocket Dog and Daddy tripping over one another. Now she has a new a venture. A book. Yes, the things Daddy reads while he is sitting on the giant water bowl making vicks in good drinking water. Her new book is called Dieting With My Dog . She has her work published in Guideposts Magazine , V and written for the Chicken Soup for the Soul books . But this is her first actual book and I must tell you, for a book written by a human it isn’t bad. The bipeds are buying it up like hotcakes (and then getting upset when they find out hotcakes isn’t good for their diet.) It has sold out on Amazon.com. Query for the humans: How does a book store run out of books when there is no actual store?

*Sound of audience murmuring and then a band beings to play the Foley Monster theme song* Pocket: It’s the Pawnight Show starring Foley Monster. With Hobo Hudson and the all mutt Orchestra featuring Hattie Mae on vocals. Foley’s guest star tonight is national disgrace Kris Humphires. I’m your announcer Pocket Dog. And now heeeeeerrrreee’s Foley. *The audience begins applauding as Foley comes out bowing* Foley: Welcome. Wow. Snow one day then hot weather the next. I don’t know which of my fur to wear. *Audience howls.* Foley: My sister Pocket likes to bury her bones in the yard. I asked her way why and she says because you can’t bury it in a tree. *Audience howls.* Foley: Later tonight I am going on a trip to my favorite city. I am going to New Yorkie. *Audience growls.* Foley: Ladies and gentlemen Hobo Hudson and his all mutt orchestra. *Hobo and the band play Hound Dog while Foley walks over to her desk. She jumps up, circles three times, scratches the top of

How is it possible we have been doing this as long as we have and Clementine and the Girls have never been our Pups of the Week? (Unless theu have been, I asked Pocket to check our records this morning but she spent all morning chasing balls). We better be right. After last week when we named the wrong pup Pup of the Week Mommy told us no more Saturday night Foletinis if we made another Pup of the Week mistake and we can’t live wtthout our Saturday night Foleytinis. So today we honor Clementine and the Girls, hosts of the fine show So You Think You Can Bark. Wait! I have been handled a note from Pocket Dog. Oh man, we are so going to lose our Foleytini Saturday nights. Clemetine and the Girls do not host that show. They are, though, very worthy pup of the week candidates. There are three main reasons that we have named Clementine and the Girls our pups of the week. First is that they do a wonderful job updating us on our friends Saffron and Sage. Since Saffron and S

I have quite the set of balls. I have friends send me balls, Mom buys me balls, there were balls here when I got here. I play with my balls. All sorts of different ones. But I usually have one ball that I play with above all others. I call it my yellow ball. Because it is yellow. And mine. Last week Daddy was sitting in the glider. Grampy was over, he was sitting in the recliner. Mommy was in the kitchen talkin’ ‘bout the government. I brought my favorite yellow ball over to Daddy and dropped it at his feet. He threw the ball while talking with Grampy. I kept running it down and bringing it back. Over and over. Then Daddy threw it. It skipped down the hall and I lost track of it. I came to the closed front bedroom door. The ball wasn’t there. I walked into the adjacent laundry room. You know what? No ball there. I went into the front bathroom. No ball there. Then I frantically looked around the kitchen. Still I was ball less. Completely without ball. Momm